Gray Matter
by Fuzzy Blue Slippers
Summary: Seth is confused. Dean is angry with him all the time, Roman shoots him suspicious glances 24/7, and The Authority keeps trying to 'win him back' despite his wish for them to drop dead. What's a guy to do when the past says one thing and the future claims another? /Amnesia fic
**A/n:** Tryin' something new (new for me, I mean, I'm sure this concept has been done before... yeah -cough-). I'm very unconfident about writing matches/action, so please don't bite me for my sloppiness D:

oOo

It was like being run over by a semi, followed by a train going over one hundred miles per hour, all while slugging through a raging hurricane of debris and hail. It wasn't the most elegant analogy, but in this moment of being eviscerated, Dean figured it would pass.

His eyes glazed over as he stared up at the high ceiling of the arena, the lights barely stinging them. Somewhere on the other side of the ring he knew Roman was busy being choked out; judging by the fans loud booing, it wasn't pretty. But that was how Bray liked his so-called family. Large, powerful, and mindlessly bleating on his heels. They weren't fancy, but they were effective. In the beginning, Dean wondered if having a third body on their team would make a difference, but who among the roster would help them? Who would want to help them? No doubt eyes in the back were winching and just glad to not be caught up in their feud. If they were smart, they'd keep their back turned. Dean would do the same if he were them.

The mat suddenly made a loud cracking sound right beside his head. Swiveling his blue eyes about, Dean found Roman inches from him, face down and unmoving.

Swell.

Somewhere on the floor Bray was busy cackling and shouting nonsense, no doubt thanking Sister Abigail for her oh-so-gracious assistance. Like they needed the help.

Pounding footfalls started towards them. Any normal person would have played dead (that was how one survived a bear attack, wasn't it?), but Dean Ambrose wasn't like most people. He wasn't a coward. He was a fighter.

A meaty hand wrapped about his throat, easily lifting him up. Braun Strowman's mean face glared back at him once they were at eye level. The man's eyes were filled with a vicious fire that seemed to go hand in hand with Bray's usual blabbing nonsense about kingdoms and hell and whatever. Glaring back, Dean did what any other person being threatened would do, namely by reaching out and slashing his nails across the brute's face like the hellcat people compared him to. Well, it was more like a slap; the fine red lines across his cheeks were just an extra bonus.

But sadly, like all his other attempts at offense, it had next to zero effect. The man wrapped him up in that devastating bearhug, wringing him back and forth like a dog wildly shaking his head with a toy clenched between its teeth. Air escaped his crushed lungs weakly, his vision rapidly fading and his body going pitifully limp. The boos were tremendous, the refs utterly useless and that constant, mad laughter…

Then, without warning, the arena filled with a mixture of confusion and excitement. The energy went completely out of whack, and whatever was happening, Braun deemed it enough of a threat to carelessly toss him aside and charge it. In the back of his mind, Dean had enough common sense to know that whomever came out had rescue in their mind, as the fans excitedly began to cheer. With barely any energy, the blond turned over, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He could see Roman still unconscious near the opposite corner, his long hair shielding his face, and beyond him…

 _What the..._

Their help moved in a blur, a flash of black and fading gold bouncing about and laying waste to the stunned Wyatt's all by their lonesome. Dean couldn't help but wonder if he were hallucinating or had passed out and was dreaming. Both seemed highly plausible as that whirlwind of energy looked a lot like that no-good, weaseling, sellout, corporate suck-up that he had once lovingly called brother.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean reopened them just in the nick of time to watch his hallucination perform one of those picture perfect enziguri's to the back of Harper's head; the man dropped like a sack of potatoes. A flash of victory lighted upon the traitor's face as he scrambled up from his hands and knees but it left in a flash when Braun charged him from behind, sending him sprawling into the ropes. Involuntarily bounding back, the brute hit him with a clothesline. Everyone 'ooh'ed loudly as the champion was nearly turned inside out, landing on the mat with a lifeless thud. Not wanting him up anytime soon, the newest Wyatt member scooped him up and immediately began to squeeze. The younger man cried out, and when pained brown eyes fixed onto Dean's blue ones, a light bulb went off in his head.

The pain in his bones were shoved aside, and with a mighty surge the former U.S champ regained a vertical base, his teeth bared and fists clenched. Harper had begun to come around as well, shakily using the ropes as leverage. Dean was quicker. With a yell he ran the length of the ring and jumped up, both legs energetically kicking out to hit the man square in the chest, knocking the air clean out of him. With the small window afforded to him, the blond quickly got back up and knocked the man over the ropes with his forearm. On the outside, Bray stood glaring at him; he hadn't bothered to help his 'family'.

Yelling something profanity laced at him, much to the crowd's delight, Dean spun around. Either Braun was oblivious or didn't think him much of a threat. He continued to ragdoll the man in his arms, robotically, as though he hadn't a thought in the world.

Angered by either his nonchalance or false sense of security, Dean ran at him as well, and upon leaping on his back, hooked his arms around his neck. Breathing hard by this point, he chanced a glance at his ex-best friend, noting that despite the prolonged contact, he was still aware, once again locking eyes. Hallucination or not, Dean couldn't help but feel conflicted. Why had Seth run into the ring like this? Why was he knowingly putting himself in danger, and for what? It couldn't have been for them. After all, there were no emotional ties from where Mr. Rollins stood. There really was no motive, no reasonable explanation.

Oh well. Why look a gifthorse in the mouth? Besides, once the threat was gone, he gleefully planned on punching Seth in the face.

Dean applied more pressure as the man had yet to even falter, hoping to at least force him down on one knee. At this point, the only thing that could bring this beast down was if the entire locker room came out and pulled off their signatures.

Twice.

It was hopeless.

Seth's eyes slid to a point over his right shoulder, then before any conclusions could be gleaned, a driving force suddenly bowled the three of them over. Roman had somehow woken himself up and was back in the game, using the last ounce of his strength to take the man down. Being back in control produced the sort of adrenaline he used to feel when they had been a team, fueling his desire for carnage and justice. Having not let go, Dean tightened his grip, a sick, twisted grin stretching his face once the other two recovered and began systematically stomping away at Braun.

Oddly enough, the rest of the Wyatt's hadn't bothered to move. Harper had to have been up by now and Bray was one hundred percent. But again, oh well. As long as they kept their distance, he wasn't about to complain.

It took some time, but finally the man's strength faltered, his frame going slack under the abuse of kicks and the sleeper-hold. During the entire attack Roman had taken to staring at the impromptu assistance with the same conflicted expression Dean had worn minutes ago. Too caught up in the moment, Seth gleefully carried on, unaware that his former brothers were now sharing raised eyebrows and shrugs.

Once the big man stopped moving completely the trio backed off, satisfied with their work.

"You guys alright?"

"Um…" Roman glanced to Dean, eyebrows upraised. The latter shrugged back. "Ye… yeah. Thanks?"

Seth grinned before pulling an angry face and stomping across the mat to grab the ropes and scream at the enemy. The other two stared at each other, unsure on how to properly react, and when he returned, he enthusiastically jut his fist out like everything was roses.

The crowd went absolutely bonkers. They easily drowned out Dean's "what the fuck" but nothing could mask the Samoan's 'not this shit again' face. The announcers were turning red with the amount of shouting they were doing into their headsets. Seth glanced between them when they didn't move. Happiness fell away to confusion.

"Guys?"


End file.
